


intoxicated: a crankgameplays imagine

by sinah



Category: CrankGameplays - Fandom, Teamiplier - Fandom, ethan nestor - Fandom, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Bartenders, CrankGameplays - Freeform, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Drunken Flirting, Drunkenness, Ethan Nestor - Freeform, Excessive Drinking, Markiplier - Freeform, Party, Partying, TeamIplier - Freeform, YouTube, YouTubers - Freeform, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:17:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinah/pseuds/sinah
Summary: you go to get drunk. you like the feeling the alcohol gives you, the rush of poisonous medicine clouding your thoughts.your bartender is cute, young, and has a shock of brilliant blue hair. he's also looking at you with eyes full of something like pity.warning: some references of sexual harassment??posted first on my wattpad account: https://www.wattpad.com/story/101382751-intoxicated-crankgameplays-imagine





	intoxicated: a crankgameplays imagine

You stumble across off the dance floor, falling against the bar with an intoxicated laugh. Your heels twist under you as you grab the polished wood to find your balance. The alcohol burns in your veins like liquid fire, consuming you, and you love it. You relish the absence of emotion and the numbness that tingles through your entire body. Gripping the edge of the table behind you, you right yourself and lean back against it, catching your breath. The memories of the past few minutes are slipping behind you in a blur, slowly being eaten away by the fire flickering inside your chest which crawls through your arms and down your torso like a dark, silent predator. You remember drunkenly speaking, the words _i’ll be back_ slurred together and pressed against the ear of an older man with a blurred face.

 

The appropriately dark room is lit only by the flashing and spinning multicolored lights from the music stand. The dj is stood a few inches above the pulsing mass of people on the main floor. On either side of you are the drunker partygoers, passed out on the floor or drinking themselves to the point of unconsciousness. To your right, a couple are kissing passionately and violently, their hands tangled through their clothes in various suggestive places.

 

Running your hands through your hair, you hastily pull down your skirt and pull up the collar of your blouse, a few whistles and approving jeers aimed at you through the pounding music. You press your hands against your head and try to compose yourself through the inebriated thoughts spinning in your brain, breaking every crumbling wall of rationality that ever existed.

 

‘Ma’am, would you like a drink?’

 

Your heart skips a beat and you flinch, trying to pinpoint the sound of the voice through the hazy film in your ears.

 

‘Ma’am?’

 

You spin around too quickly and lose your fragile balance, your flailing arm knocking over an abandoned shot glass. The sound of shattering glass is quickly swallowed by the music, but the bartender sees it fall. You lock eyes, his face haggard but clean shaven. He is a young man who looks like he’s in his 20’s.

 

‘It’s alright,’ he says, leaning forward against the bar towards you. ‘I won’t make you pay. you obviously don’t need another drink.’

 

Your eyes slide up to his hair, and a giggle slips out of your mouth. ‘I like your hair,’ you mumble, copying his nonchalant pose and reaching up towards his head, fascinated by the blue. He stays still as you touch a stray piece, running it through your fingers. You break your fascination away from his hair for enough time to see the discomfort on his face. A pang of embarrassment breaks through the wall of alcohol, then fades back as quickly as it came.

 

‘I’m...not drunk,’ I inform him, pulling another half-empty glass towards myself, my fingers desperately grasping the glass like it’s my life support.

 

‘I’m sure,’ he says dryly, pulling the glass away. I let him, longingly looking at the amber liquid as it disappears behind the counter.

 

He instead pulls out a bigger glass and fills it with a clear liquid, handing it to me. I grab it eagerly, assuming its vodka, and tip the glass down my throat. As soon as it hits my taste buds i know its not vodka, and I swallow slowly and set the glass down.

 

‘That's not alcohol,’ I state matter-of-factly, trying to convey my disappointment through the three words I can manage. I pout at him, and he cracks a smile, putting down the order he’s holding for another person and coming out from behind the bar to stand next to me. He’s taller than me, with an attractive figure tucked into dark jeans and a grey t-shirt. I immediately shift my figure into more flattering angles and lift my chin, staring at him challengingly. He moves closer, and I involuntarily close my eyes, a flutter of lust stirring through the alcohol. My lips part slightly, only to meet grey, empty air. My hand, however, is taken by his cold fingers, and I open my eyes and stare at our joined hands, confused about his intentions.

 

‘Come with me,’ he says. ‘You need to get out of here.’

 

 _He wants you_ , the voice inside my head whispers. _You've seen this before. He's just a typical fuckboy trying to get inside your pants._

 

‘Uh-uh,’ I say to the voice, wagging my finger and tapping my forehead. Leaning forward, I beckon the bartender closer, like I’m going to tell him a secret. He leans in, and I have time for my mushy brain to analyze his face. This ensures that he doesn’t become one of the blurry, flickering ones who stand in my head. His face is sharp and his skin is red in some places, like he has gone through severe acne treatments. His hair is bluer when its not tinted by the disco lights, a happy shade of cerulean that makes me imagine a sky in each separate strand. His eyes are a shattering blue, flickering through a range of emotions that reflect in his face.

 

"My mama always told me, 'don’t go anywhere with a stranger unless you know his name'," I whisper conspiratorially, pressing my lips to his ear. Our faces are so close his eyelashes are almost brushing my face, his nose inches away from my skin. His cheeks are slightly flamed. I feel a warmth in my chest, different than the drunken heat I'm accustomed to. The bass pounds in the background, every crash of the beat resounding through my entire body. I can only imagine how i look-- a wasted mess, my hair hanging in sweaty strands and my outfit way too revealing for comfort.

 

‘It’s Ethan,’ he answers, his voice soft and difficult to hear over the music.

 

‘O-kay,’ I chirp in reply, straightening and peeking at him through my hair. He looks lost, then he blinks and his expressions cloud. I allow him to pull me away from the bar and along the outskirts of the jostling group of people. I expect myself to fall, expect my weakened limbs to twist under me and send me crashing down, down, down to the cold floor. Let it intertwine with my breaking body, allow the sweaty concrete to wrap its arms around me and drag me down until it swallows me and I can finally be at peace.

 

But instead, he’s there. His hand is like a pillar of stone that I clutch onto with all my strength as he maneuvers towards an exit.

 

And then all of a sudden, the pillar is shattered as _he_ appears there, blocking our way to the comfort of the outside world.

 

‘I don’t think…she wants to go with ya,’ he says, his words slow and slurred. His body is vaguely familiar, his slight stomach protruding from his overly tight shirt.

 

‘I don’t think thats your decision,’ my new acquaintance replies coolly, moving as if to walk past him. The man takes a clumsy step to the side, stopping us in our tracks.

 

‘She said she’d come back. She promised.’

 

His voice is a whine that develops into a high pitched ringing in my ears as the blurred man from earlier becomes apparent in the one swaying in front of us. His eyes are red and bloodshot and hold nothing but filthy lust as they lock on my chest, searching hungrily and taking greedily. My world shrinks, and he notices.

 

So does ethan.

 

I hear ethan say something along the lines of ‘oh, fuck off, will you?’ but my brain isn’t functioning, stuck in a loop like a broken tape. His hands on mine replaying over my body, touching me even when I laughed and giggled _no_ ’s and _naughty’_ s and then my giggles are fading into discomfort and his hands are rough against my breasts and it’s all _I_ s _aid no_ ’s and _I don’t like that_ and _please stop please please please please please please_

 

Suddenly there’s a flurry of movement and they’re flying at each other like wild animals. The sound of Ethan punching the man rings through my ears and then we’re flying, skimming across the floor like birds. We crash through the door like we’ve been freed from our birdcage and finally have room to spread our wings.

 

A lapse in my memory occurs and the next minutes are a void of black, lit only by the streaks of fire coursing through me. Ethan’s figure floats into my frame of vision, bent over with his back to a dark wall. He is shaking out his hand, wincing. The wall is down now; I can see everything. My eyes catch the pain he’s in, an immense, seething hatred, an underlying sadness that is so painstakingly obvious it takes my breath away.

 

Then he sees that i am staring, and his face closes.

 

‘Why are you so bent on helping me?’ I whisper, a sob catching in my throat. 'I just want to drink. I’m so thirsty. It takes it all away.'

 

My voice hiccups on the last word and I shake my head, frustrated.

 

‘Why me?’ I say, my voice soft and breathy.

 

He moves closer to me, sliding down next to where I sit, my hands trailing limply in my lap.

 

‘I was you, once,’ he murmurs, his voice so soft i can barely catch it.

 

I can see it now, inside my head; this strikingly attractive young man being caught up in the same thrill I am while seeking to quell the thoughts streaming through his mind. Downing drink after drink in hopes that one of these times he’ll just pass out and everything will be peacefully blank.

 

I can see the sadness, raw and sharp on his face and written on his arms in dark scars.

 

‘I hoped i=I could save you.’

 

He looks directly at me as he says this, his eyes bright with tears, his brilliantly blue hair mussed and--

 

 _Save me_?

 

I had convinced myself I was far past saving.

 

In my alcohol-filled stupor, those words attach themselves to my chest and stick there, and I allow myself to feel again.

 

We sit on the dirty pavement under a dimly flickering streetlight, and he allows me to cry into his shoulder, his soft hands running through my tangled hair.

 

Because I know I am not okay, but with him by my side, I feel like I am beginning to be.


End file.
